


Nevarro

by MotleyMoose



Series: Homecoming [4]
Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian
Genre: Abandonment issues run deep, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Because of Reasons, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Typical Violence, Confusion, Din has a short temper, Emotions, Eventual Happiness, Fighting, Gen, It's easier to punch things than feel feelings, Long Lost Sibling, Mandalorians - Freeform, Nevarro, Paz Viszla is a softie, Paz and Reader really hit it off y'all, Paz viszla to the rescue, Reader has anger issues they need to figure out, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, The Covert, a little pinch of fluff in all this angst, and no matter how much the reader doesn't like him, anger and frustration, bunking up in the covert, but i love how it's going now, but it helps if they do, but really, finally some fluff, flangst, hard beskar shell on the outside, look at that gigantic lovebun, not that i would know anything about that, soft paz viszla on the inside, they don't have to get along, they're everywhere!, they're gonna have to share a room with Din, this didn't go as planned, underground bunkers, what are feelings anyway, why wouldn't he
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: Well, here we are. On Nevarro.
Relationships: Din Djarin/sibling!Reader, The Mandalorian/sibling!reader
Series: Homecoming [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846768
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	1. Kindred Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter may be short, but that only means there's a ton of filling in the next one, right? Right??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've landed on Nevarro, and yet I'm still pissed at the bounty hunter.
> 
> Also, I get to meet another of his kind.

A full day and a half passed before I felt the _Razor Crest_ drop out of hyperspace. During that time, I made myself stay busy by any means necessary. All of the spare parts in the hold were repaired, cleaned _and_ organized; my tools were spotless; a few of the knives I’d purloined from the ship’s expansive cache were sharpened and polished; the hastily-repaired wiring underneath the deck was now fully fixed. I knew that if I stopped, even for just a brief moment to eat, I’d replay the fight in my head and lose myself in the deep well of melancholic fury. And under no uncertain terms did I want to relive that. Nope, nuh uh, no way.

It’s been said that avoidance is my strong suit.

I hadn’t seen hide nor beskar of the Mandalorian nor the sweet innocent face of the child since sequestering myself below decks after the fight. Really, I was fine with that. I didn’t need his judgy silence or uncommunicative growls distracting me from more important things… like finding out what was causing the clunking rattle in the carbonite tank. Sure, I missed the kid and his excited babbling, but the bounty hunter hovered over him like an overprotective mama cat. And, truthfully, I did _not_ want to deal with _him_ at all. Ever. I wouldn’t even be hard-put to say I’d be A-Okay without ever seeing him again.

My luck ran out two hours after landing. I was standing in the carbonite chamber, scrubbing the nozzles while I waited for the diagnostics reading, when I heard the familiar clang of hard-soled boots on steel rungs.

“ _Frag,_ ” I muttered to myself. With one last twist of the small wire brush, I jerked the cleaning tool from the last carbonite nozzle and pocketed it. My other hand reached for the rag tucked into the back pocket of my jumpsuit. After wiping the grease from my fingers, I twisted the rag tightly in my hands and stepped out into the hull.

“Hurry up,” the bounty hunter snapped. He stood near the hatch entrance, the kid floating tranquilly beside him in his silver pod.

I grabbed my pack off of the spare cot and shouldered it, hooking my thumbs into the worn leather straps. I made a noncommittal noise towards him without actually looking in his direction. The Mandalorian grunted in turn, pressing a code into his vembrace.

In an airy hiss, the door began to lower. The ramp motors whirred and creaked against the heft of the solid steel hatchway, and slowly the dusty sunshine of the rocky little planet spilled in. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright, natural light, the whispery warm breeze tickling my face and neck as I blinked against the sun.

“Stay close,” the bounty hunter murmured to the child at his elbow.

It wasn’t as if the kid could go anywhere _but_ with the hunter, so I took it as a warning directed at me.

I hitched my rucksack higher on my shoulders. He hadn’t invited me along outright, but I knew that I wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the ship by myself either. The Mandalorian trusted me about as far as he could throw me, and I reciprocated the feeling.

Although to be fair, he probably weighed a ton covered in all that beskar, and also he’d taken me to Mihcas and confiscated my pendant, so I felt I had more to lose in trusting the buckethead.

Staying right next to the child’s carrier, and thus several blissful steps away from the bounty hunter, I took in as much of the sights and sounds and smells of the little village as I could. Vendors of every type were out, hocking their wares and foods and services. Children dashed about their elders’ legs, completely immune to the shouts and grumblings of their parents.

We didn’t stay on the main thoroughfare for long; the Mandalorian ducked into one of the many alleyways that opened onto the village square, and the kid and I followed. It was dank and cluttered, yet the bounty hunter picked his way expertly through the rubble, taking care to not knock over anything unnecessarily. The buildings on either side were dull with soot and scored with what looked to be blaster fire.

“Sure he knows where he’s going?” I whispered conspiratorially to the little one.

The child cooed quietly, patting the lip of his pod with a small green hand.

“Well, you’ve been around him longer than I have, _ad’ika_. I’ll defer to your judgement on the matter.”

Giving me a solemn, wide-eyed look, the kid blinked then smiled toothlessly. Up ahead, the Mandalorian tapped something into the controls on his vembrace, and the pod jerked to his side. He looked down at the child and said something too low for me to hear. The little one blinked at the hunter. When the Mandalorian turned away, the child peeked meekly back at me, his big ears waving sorrowfully in my direction before disappearing back into the pod.

“Buckethead,” I muttered, sticking my tongue out at the back of the hunter’s helmet.

A few more wordless minutes strolling through the long and winding alley led us to a dead end. The Mandalorian stopped several yards from the wall, one hand on his blaster as he scanned our surroundings.

“ _Su cuy’gar_ ,” a disembodied modulated voice spoke in greeting.

The bounty hunter started, blaster halfway out of its holster, when another beskar-clad warrior stepped out from the shadows.

Sheepishly, the hunter stuffed his blaster back into its housing. With his other hand, he gestured to the child in his floating pod. “I need to speak with the Armorer.”

The other Mandalorian cocked her helmet in consideration. “What makes you think she wants to see you, _beroya_?”

The bounty hunter shifted uncomfortably as the other let the silence behind her words settle.

I wasn’t going to bring attention to myself, so I stayed put, watching the Mandalorian grow more and more uneasy under the other’s glassy gaze. Watching him squirm was worth the trek down the alley.

The other Mandalorian broke the silence. “And what of your companion?” The way she said it made my skin crawl, and I looked down at the toes of my boots.

“I need to speak with the Armorer,” the Mandalorian repeated, squaring his shoulders and raising the tip of his helmet in defiance.

“As you wish, _vod’ika_ ,” the other warrior replied. She stepped aside and ushered the Mandalorian and child into a low, dark tunnel entrance built to look like a defect in the building’s brickwork.

I strode forward, eyes downcast, waiting for the bounty hunter to get a little way ahead. Inhaling deeply, I ducked into the entrance when an armored hand touched my shoulder. “Don’t let his temperment fool you, _burc’ya_ ,” the other Mandalorian murmured kindly. “That one seeks redemption for mistakes not his own.” She slapped me on the back as a parting gesture, and I stumbled into the dark tunnel, more confused than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ad’ika_ \- little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like *lads* or *guys*,  
>  _Su cuy’gar_ \- Hello - lit. *You're still alive.*  
>  _beroya_ \- bounty hunter  
>  _vod’ika_ \- little brother  
>  _burc’ya_ \- friend


	2. Answers, If He Be Willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes more energy than I want to admit to divine what exactly it is we're doing in the covert, but when it comes time for answers, everything is muddier than it originally was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just... so tired, y'all. But here's the next chapter on Nevarro! At least one more before we get into the last part of this trainwreck. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!!!

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the low tunnel. Shuffling forward, the toe of my boot caught on a crack in the concrete. Before I could even _think_ of stopping myself from landing face-first, the straps of the pack dug sharply into my shoulders, and I landed on my knees with a yelp of surprise.

“Careful, _burc’ya_. These tunnels are old and treacherous,” the entrance guard said calmly, letting go of my pack so I could stand up with some semblance of grace.

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out,” I replied. I turned to follow the bounty hunter.

“And _ad’ika_?” I glanced over my shoulder at her. The Mandalorian leaned easily against the entrance, her body blocking most of the light from the outside. “Don’t forget what I said about _him_.” She inclined her head to the dark form darting in and out of shadows some 30 paces farther away.

I nodded silently and forced myself to catch up to the bounty hunter.  
………

The low tunnel opened up into a wide, dim chamber. Near the back of the room, next to a single steel-reinforced door, a sentinel in dusky yellow beskar leaned casually against a rack of steel drums. A wickedly modified amban rifle rested beside him.

“ _Me’ven?_ Back so soon?” the guard asked in disgust. “Thought you weren't coming back.”

The hunter stopped, leaning his weight to one side as he took in the Mandalorian in front of us. “And I thought your _buir_ raise you to be less of a _osik'uram.”_

For one tense second, the two armored men stared silently at one another. Nervously, I fingered the knife tucked into my leather cuisses. Once they started fighting, maybe I’d be able to grab the kid and hightail it to the entrance. The Mandalorian there seemed to be kind enough, it was possible she would let us through?... 

“Oh, you always did have _paklalat!_ ” the guard laughed uproariously. “Bring it in, _vod_.” 

They embraced, their beskar breastplates clinking noisily together. 

“How long are you planning on staying this time?” the Mandalorian asked, ambling stiffly to the door to enter the key code. 

With a dismissive glance at me, the bounty hunter shrugged. “A few days. Enough to rest and reload.” 

“Ah. Well then, don’t let all this downtime make you soft.” The gears squealed and the heavy door swung open. The sentinel stepped back, allowing us to pass through. “ _Ret’, beroya,_ ” he said to our retreating backs. The door shrieked shut behind us, and we were encased in darkness. 

The bounty hunter tapped the side of his helmet, and a dull yellow light blazed out from a spot above where his ear would be. He swept the beam sideways along the wide path, grunted his approval, and proceeded forward. Tripping over an unseen obstacle, I hastily reached my hands out and caught the lip of the child’s crib. 

The pod wobbled wildly at the jolt, and the kid giggled excitedly, his squeaky little voice echoing far into the emptiness. I shook the crib purposefully this time, and he squealed in delight. I was just about to do it a third time when the bounty hunter whirled on us. 

“Stop that,” he said gruffly. 

The child frowned up at the stern visage, cooing gravely. He then swiveled his little head to me, flashing a cheeky grin and blowing raspberries. 

Sighing heavily, the hunter shook his head and continued the trek into the underground refuge. We followed, making faces at one another to pass the time in the monotonous blackness surrounding us. 

The air became cool and damp the deeper we went. Soon, I was shivering slightly underneath my jumpsuit, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to my back, shoulders and thighs. My skin would be a red, irritated mess by the time we made it to dryer air, and I didn’t look forward to the next few days of nursing a rash. 

Tired out from our games, the kid had snuggled deep into his pod, his large translucent ears the only visible part of him. Occasionally, as the child dreamed, one of his ears would twitch as if tickled by an unseen hand. I smiled at the sweet little lump of blankets, a warmth spreading thickly inside my chest. That child had me wrapped around his little finger, and I gladly accepted that fate. 

“Wait here,” the Mandalorian said, startling me out of my daydream.<

He lowered the brightness of his headlamp. Silently, I watched as he picked his way around stacks of crates and barrels, ducking quite suddenly in behind a large hand trolley covered in empty pallets. Several soft clicks followed, and soon a welcoming light spilled out from the jumble of cargo. 

The child’s pod inched sedately forward, and I followed along, curious but wary about what I was getting myself into. Rounding the pallet trolley, I was greeted with an extraordinary sight. 

At least eight Mandalorians of all shapes, sizes and colors were paired off, sparring with one another in four padded rings at the center of the room, weapons and beskar flashing dangerously in the low light as they whirled and twisted and parried one another’s attacks. 

“ _Oya!_ ” a small cluster of children shouted at the closest pair of fighters. 

Something brushed against me. “Move,” the bounty hunter muttered, gloved hand clamped tightly on my shoulder, pushing me unceremoniously through the throng of onlookers. 

Too tired to do anything else, I allowed him to guide me to the exit. An occasional Mandalorian would start to say something to him, but he brushed them off with a grunt and a curt nod, steering me ever forward. 

Once outside the rowdy atmosphere, the bounty hunter dropped his hand and took the lead again, choosing a pace that made it difficult to keep up. The child stirred as the crib sped up, kicking off the blankets and yawning sleepily. He blinked twice before shutting his eyes against the light and rolling onto his belly. It didn’t take long for him to return to sleep. 

“Wish I could do that, little guy,” I murmured enviously. 

At the hunter’s long gait, it took little time to make it to his destination. Breathing heavily, I laced my fingers and rested my hands on my head, opening up my chest to inhale a little easier. 

“What’s so urgent that we had to practically sprint to get here?” I moaned, arching my spine wearily. “Could at least warn me before you take off like that.” I released my arms and dug my fingers into the small of my back, trying to massage the soreness away. 

The bounty hunter only grunted, ushering me into a wide door frame and into a square, plainly decorated antechamber. Another set of doors leading into the next room were closed, a muffled hammering coming from within. He stood silently beside me, fists clenched at his sides. 

“What are we-” 

“ _K’uur_ ”, he hissed. 

Sighing audibly, I crossed my arms across my chest and waited for whatever it was he was waiting for. 

The minutes ticked by slowly, and I was getting itchy and restless. I almost turned to say something to him again when the interior doors slid silently open, and waves of heat poured out. 

In the center of the room stood a blazing forge. Along the curved walls behind the forge were squat cabinets, and a neat row of tools lay on a workbench tucked into an open alcove. A lone anvil lurked in the shadows opposite the workbench, a pair of thick leather gauntlets draped carelessly over the sharp edge of the heavy block of steel. And in the open area immediately to the front of the forge sat a short, sturdy table, clean and bare of any of the craftsman’s trappings, yet obviously scuffed from frequent use. 

I didn’t notice the bronzed Mandalorian until the forge flamed high and bright. She stepped out from behind the fires, hammer in one hand, and in the other a pair of tongs clasping a red-hot square of metal. Walking slowly and majestically to the anvil, she placed the quickly cooling metal beside the leather gauntlets and raised her hammer to strike. 

“You have returned,” the bronze Mandalorian remarked, driving the hammer into the shaped steel with a practical yet precise air. “And not without company.” Regarding me with a cool nod, she returned the shaped metal to the forge, setting her hammer and tongs tidily on the workbench before turning back to us. 

“We- I’ve… come in search of answers,” the bounty hunter said hoarsely, voice tight behind his helmet. He took a tentative step forward to kneel at the table. 

“You have provided well for this covert, _beroya_. I will give what information I am able,” she replied, positioning herself likewise on the other side of the table. I stood near the wall, the door none too far from my line of sight. The kid’s pod floated in front of me and to the right, soft snores emanating from within. 

Glancing over his shoulder, the hunter beckoned for me to come closer. As I approached, he motioned that I should kneel beside him. Not a little befuddled, I joined the two warriors, fingers clenching the borrowed jumpsuit’s fabric wrinkled about my thighs. My palms were sweaty and a chill crept up my spine. But I swallowed the fear and stared stoically into the middle distance as the two Mandalorians continued their conversation. 

“They still hunt the foundling?” the Armorer - for only she could be the one spoken of so reverently - asked, inclining the chin of her spiked helmet at the child’s pod. 

“ _Elek_. Most have been… dispatched.” 

The Armorer nodded. “Good.” 

A tense moment of silence surrounded us. It didn’t feel like the right time to mouth off, so I kept my lips shut. I hadn’t stayed alive this long by _not_ reading into the breaks in conversations, and I wasn’t about to start digging my own grave now. In such close proximity to a legendary warring clan, I had to be smarter than I normally was in order to return to the overworld alive. 

The bounty hunter removed something from a pouch on his belt, laying the silver object on the table. “Tell her how you came by this.” 

Gaping at the pendant lying directly in front of me, I reached out a trembling finger. Stroking the familiar worn metal, I nearly was overwhelmed by all the thoughts and feelings breaking loose from their moorings. I swallowed hard, pulling my hand back into my lap. “It was given to me by my caretaker.” 

I started from the beginning, retelling everything that had happened since Drys had taken me in and looked out for me; how he gave me a little bit of self-defense training and taught me about Mandalore; what had happened after he had left, and as much as I knew about why I was here. 

The bronze Mandalorian had picked up the pendant while I recounted my story, studying the Mythosaur charm gravely, a single finger tracing the lines of the skull in an expertly appraising way. Time stood at a near standstill as she surveyed my relic; what she was looking for, I couldn’t fathom. It was the only material thing I had left that mattered to me. My caretaker had told me it would grant me protection when placed in the right hands, yet I wasn’t sure that I was at all safe here. 

The Armorer rose to her feet abruptly, my necklace still clutched in her glove, and strode purposefully to a plain cloth screen that I hadn’t noticed earlier bolted to the wall behind the forge. It blended almost imperceptibly into its surroundings, and it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that that was its main intention. She reappeared a minute later, both hands clamped into fists in front of her. Kneeling once more, she turned over her hands, palms up. Her left-handed fingers uncurled to reveal an almost identical pendant, a twin to my own that rested in her right. It was darker in color, much older and tarnished than its shinier sibling. 

“What-” I reached a trembling hand for the older charm, but the bounty hunter stopped me, his fingers squeezing my wrist in warning. Glaring in irate confusion at him, I jerked my arm from his grasp and dropped it back to my lap. 

Considering us through her keen, shadowy gaze, the Armorer held out the other pendant to me. I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at the Mandalorian as I accepted the token. The shape was rougher, less refined, than mine, and it was a little heftier. Rotating the pendant slowly in my hands, I looked at it from all sides, trying to discern the meaning of them both. 

“I don’t-” I gulped, frowning up at the Armorer. “I don’t understand. Why…” I couldn’t finish the question. The words caught in my throat, forming a knot that I couldn’t swallow. Blood pounded loudly in my ears, and I wondered briefly if I was going to faint. These feelings were bubbling up because of another pendant, one of what could possibly have been hundreds for all I knew, and yet it was making me emotional. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t _want_ to understand it. I just wanted _my_ relic, and I wanted to get away from this clan. 

The Mandalorian turned his helmet towards me, his visor dark and shining in the forge’s light. If he could see my inner struggle, he didn’t let on. A soft huff crackled over his vocoder. He turned back to the Armorer and nodded. 

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ ,” he said at last. 

“This is the Way,” the Armorer replied. 

Both of them rose in unison. I stayed where I was, staring blankly at the other charm. 

“You will have to become a teacher,” the bronze Mandalorian told the bounty hunter. “You are the only one who holds the right to tell the truth.” 

“There were others who were-” the hunter started. 

“No,” she cut him off. “You are the only one who can.” 

I felt them gaze down at me. I ignored them even harder, biting my lip out of spite. 

“I- I will try,” the Mandalorian said hesitantly. 

Shutting my eyes, I wished them all away, and that I was on another moon on the other side of the galaxy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _burc’ya_ \- friend (also used ironically)  
>  _ad’ika_ \- little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like *lads* or *guys*,  
>  _Me’ven?_ \- Huh? What? Expression of bewilderment or disbelief  
>  _buir_ \- parent (mother, father)  
>  _osik'uram_ \- rude ("shit mouth")  
>  _paklalat!_ \- gift of the gab, a silver tongue, wit, eloquence  
>  _vod_ \- comrade, *mate*, brother  
>  _Ret’, beroya,_ \- See you, bounty hunter  
>  _Oya!_ \- Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.  
>  _K’uur_ \- Hush  
>  _beroya_ \- bounty hunter  
>  _Elek_ \- yes (shortened to 'lek as 'yeah')  
>  _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ \- Family is more than blood. (Saying.)


	3. Getting to Know One Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would just be easier if I could punch all the things instead of dealing with emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters for this part are short (I am just.... too tired to put out much more), but there are TWO MORE than the previous parts, so yay!
> 
> I mashed some Mando'a again, but THIS TIME I lurked on the mandoa dot org forums and gleaned a few noncanon words and learned a tiny bit about sentence structure (still not perfect, but it'll work for now, I hope???)
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and stay tuned for more unwarranted anger and awkward fights!

We left the Armorer’s sanctum and turned left out the door down a long, dimly lit hallway. A scattering of warriors, encased in beskar armor, lounged on the floor and leaned against the walls. The chattering between them stopped when we approached.

A mountain of a Mandalorian stepped in front of the rest, his blue-gray armor worn but well-maintained. The bounty hunter stopped two paces from the other. The crown of his head barely reached the lip of the blue warrior’s helmet.

“All debts are paid,” the bounty hunter growled, all the while staring straight into the larger Mandalorian’s chest plate.

The blue warrior gave a full-belly laugh, leaning away from the hunter as he slapped his solid thigh and shook his mighty helmet. “Oh, _verd’ika_. You never cease to amaze me.” His impossibly deep voice seemed bright and cheerful, something I had yet to experience with the bounty hunter.

The shorter Mandalorian stood rooted to the spot, fists clenched at his sides. “Then what do you want.”

Straightening up to his imposing height, the blue-gray Mandalorian nodded towards me. “ _Tion’tuur haar jatekara’la solus?_ ”

Blushing in embarrassment but increasingly becoming bolder, I stepped closer until I was shoulder-to-shoulder with the bounty hunter. “You’re funny, guy” I cooed sarcastically. “But I’d much rather spend my nights in a cold bunk, thank you very much.”

All of the Mandalorians turned their attention to me. I scowled back at them.

“I like this one!” the giant chuckled, laying a heavy gauntlet on the bounty hunter’s pauldron and pulling him in for a side hug. “Keeps you on your toes.” The other warriors laughed in unison. They returned to their tasks as the blue-gray Mandalorian half-drug, half-marched the hunter down the hallway. Wearily, I followed close behind, the child’s protective crib humming along beside me.

With the low lighting and almost no landmarks, I soon lost all sense of direction in the underground covert as I lagged wearily behind. Every few yards, a doorway would appear cut into the tunnel wall, looking exactly like the last. From the briefest of glances, I noted several storage rooms (weapons, food, medical) and family areas. The long hall tapered, funneling us into a boxy lobby. The nearest door led into something akin to a school.

Children of all ages and species darted in and out of the last one, squealing and giggling as they chased one another up and down the chamber. Adults working within the family rooms and in the widened tunnel itself could be heard admonishing, teasing and teaching the young rabble. How were they able to learn anything in all the ruckus? I could barely understand my own thoughts let alone what anyone else was saying. It would’ve been impossible to hold any sort of conversation with all of the shrill whistles and high shrieks bouncing off the walls.

As soon as we were past the school, a short Mandalorian in pale green beskar stepped out of the room and yelled. “ _Gev, verdike!_ ” Her clear, commanding voice cut through the hubbub, and the children obediently stopped their revelry, returning reluctantly to the classroom.

The larger Mandalorian had let go of the bounty hunter by then, picking his way thoughtfully through the stream of little ones, handing out fist bumps and hair ruffles to many of them. Smiles brightened their round little faces, and I spotted several gap-toothed grins. A thought, both terrible and validating, gripped my brain, and I hastened to catch up to him, puffing with the effort of dodging around distracted children.

“Are-are all of these kids foundlings?” I asked breathlessly when I reached the gray-blue giant.

Turning his helmet a fraction, the big warrior studied me for a moment. “No, not all of them.” We stopped momentarily, letting a frazzled-looking man with an armload of burlap sacks unload his cargo onto an awaiting wooden trolley. Once he had secured his sacks and steered the cart out of the way, we continued on. “Some are born into the Clan. But most come to us because the galaxy can be a cruel, unforgiving place.”

“Ah.” I was relieved to hear that my circumstances weren’t out of the norm, but really I had nothing more to say on the subject.

Once we left the echoing lobby, the larger Mando led us to a small room down a seemingly deserted corridor. Opening the simple door, he gestured for me and the bounty hunter to enter. The child, still snoring in his cradle, tagged immediately behind. 

The room was sparsely decorated, with a low table, much like the one in the Armorer’s sanctuary, a boxy wardrobe against the far wall, and a pull-out bunk, already extended and ready for use, near the door. The only other things in the room were two days worth of rations stacked neatly on the table and a bedroll with several thick blankets set beside the bunk.

I turned to the blue-gray Mandalorian. “What’s going on?”

The giant looked from me to the hunter. I could almost picture his kind, bright eyes in behind his darkened visor. “Do you still not know how to communicate?” he laughed, slapping the bounty hunter roughly on the back. “You need to work on that, _vod_ , lest it comes back to bite you in the ass!”

Smothering a grin, I turned away from the pair and surveyed my surroundings once more. Nothing unusual, nothing dangerous, just a snug and tidy room all to myself. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I think I’m going to turn in for the day…” I stepped closer, hoping to crowd the warriors out of the room.

“Oh, erm-” the bounty hunter started.

The blue-gray Mando snorted. “Oh, brother, you really haven’t changed at all, have you?” He silently backed into the hallway, a huge feat for someone so large and covered in heavy metal plates. “You should _definitely_ be the one to explain that!” he said pointedly to the bounty hunter before shoving the door closed with a sharp _click._

Bewildered, I bit my lip and furrowed my brow as I tried to piece together what he had been getting at.

The bounty hunter, meanwhile, shifted nervously from foot to foot, his cloak gently brushing against the beskar. It would have been comforting if I hadn’t found him so frustratingly aggravating.

“Will you stop that?” I finally snapped, tossing my bag at the foot of the bunk and collapsing on the stiff mattress. “No one is telling me anything, and I like it about as much as I like you.” I tugged off my boots and kicked them under the bed. “So spill. Why the heck are we here, and what was that all about?” 

The bounty hunter hummed tunelessly, tapping his cuisses with a nervous finger. After a moment of internal debate, he strode across the room and slouched onto the table. The neat stacks of ration packets skittered lightly over the smooth surface, sliding over the edge and landing on a cushion with a muffled _plisskff_. Ignoring the food, the Mandalorian unfastened and stripped off his gloves, one finger at a time. Once removed, he laid them one at a time across each knee, smoothing the soft leather over and over again with his long, blunt fingers.

“W-what do you know about Reyn?” he asked, staring at the ground, his elbows resting heavily upon his thighs.

“I already told you everything I know,” I mumbled. Falling back onto the body-sized cushion at the head of the bunk, I wriggled deeper into the rough mattress, sighing as my muscles slowly relaxed. “I only know what he taught me, and as you can tell, it wasn’t much.”

Making a noncommittal sound, the bounty hunter continued to rub the gloves on his knees. He didn’t say anything for a long while.

I was dozing when he spoke next, and I had to fight myself awake in order to understand what he was telling me.

“-that was all before the Empire collapsed.”

I rolled to my side and squinted at him, suddenly very, very interested. “What’s this about the Empire?”

Huffing in frustration, the Mandalorian twisted both gloves between his fists and looked up at me. “Drys Reyn? He’s _aruetii_. He sold out his Clan, a Rebel-aligned faction of the Death Watch, to the Empire. When the Imperials arrived, instead of arresting the leaders of the rebellion, making examples of them, the troopers slaughtered all of them. Right down to the smallest foundling. Reyn took the credits the Moff paid him and ran.” The hitch in his voice was barely noticeable, the tremble in his fingers practically nonexistent, but the emotion was there and I saw it. “Rumor was he’d been killed in a firefight by a smuggler. And that’s what the covert believed until…” He swallowed audibly, the grip on his gloves tightening dangerously.

“Until what?” I whispered, unwilling to believe that my caretaker had done anything so heinous as getting his kindred murdered by the Imps. He had been a stern but kindly old man, blunt to the point of offense yet overly forgiving for any and all trouble I caused. There was still a little part of me that even loved my _buir_ , no matter how much he had hurt me when he’d left.

The bounty hunter angled his helmet towards me, shoulders sagging as his hands drooped between his thighs. “You,” he replied. “Without you, the covert would’ve gone on believing he was dead. You are the key to finding him. To make him pay for his crimes against the Clans.”

“But he could still very well be dead!” I exclaimed. Dread and fear bloomed joyfully in my chest, the growing tension in my body sprouting painfully through my tired muscles. Piecing together what he was possibly getting at, I shot straight up in the bunk, clenching the cushion to my chest. “Last time I saw him was years ago, when he left me on my homeplanet to rot.” Exhaling fiercely, I let go of the pillow and struggled to the edge of the bed. I had to get out of the tunnels, away from the covert. It was all becoming too claustrophobic for my liking. “I haven’t heard anything of him since then,” I said, shoving my feet back into my boots. “And trust me, I looked.” With that statement, I jumped to my feet, grabbed my pack and swung it over my shoulders. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go… somewhere that isn’t here.” Discretion went out the window when I had leapt out of bed, so I opted for the quickest and least stealthy solution and lunged for the door.

As usual, the Mandalorian had seen my actions before I could even think them all the way through.

Hands like iron clamped onto my biceps from behind, spinning me in mid-air. I landed on my feet, somewhat wobbly but altogether upright. With a gentle shove, he directed me back to the bunk. Snarling, I tried to duck under his arm. He dragged me back to the bunk by the straps of my bag.

“Touch me again, _chakaar_ , and I will punch you so hard that -”

“ _K’uur, vod’ika. Udesii!_ I don’t want to fight you,” he said when I whirled on him, fists raised. He raised his hands, palms out to show that he meant no harm.

I was wary in believing him.

“Then why can’t I leave? And what do you mean ‘ _vod’ika?_ ’” I lowered my fists a fraction and glared at him. “You and me ain’t on friendly terms, bub.”

Stepping backwards slowly, the bounty hunter came to a stop when he was parallel to the door. “There’s no easy way to say this.”

“Okay?” I snorted derisively. “When has anything _ever_ been easy between us?”

He flinched slightly, and I almost felt guilty about my words. Almost.

“The thing you have to understand is that when Mandalorians adopt a foundling, that child is a part of the Clan until it is reunited with its people or comes of age and chooses to leave. Some warriors take on many foundlings, and some can only care for one,” he explained patiently, his gaze somewhere at my knees. “D-Drys Reyn was one with many, from everywhere. Most he was able to return to their kind. But others like-” He stopped, swallowing once more. “Others like you and… and me. We would’ve had no family to be returned to.”

Stunned, my hands dropped heavily to my sides. I shuffled tentatively forward, unsure whether I was going to cry or hit something. “Are-are you saying that…?”

Clearing his throat, the Mandalorian looked directly into my eyes. “My name is Din Djarin,” he said softly. “And I am part of your Clan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _verd’ika_ \- private (rank) Can be used affectionately, often to a child; *little soldier* - context is critical.  
>  _Tion’tuur haar jatekara’la solus?_ \- (*furiously mashes Mando’a together*) When’s the lucky day? (lit. “Which day is the lucky one?”) Tion’tuur (which day); haar (the - definite article - rare and emphatic); jatekara’la (jate’kara - luck, ‘la - [-ly] adj. [ whole word from Taljair te Mir'ad on mandoa.org forums])  
>  _Gev, verdike!_ Pack it in, little soldiers!  
>  _aruetii_ \- traitor, foreigner, outsider  
>  _chakaar_ \- corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse  
>  _K’uur, vod’ika. Udesii!_ \- Hush, little sibling. Calm down! (Take it easy!)


	4. The Family Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm on my own from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys.... I think maybe I'm working through some things with this fic??? I don't know why this character is just always so... _angry_... and sometimes unrightfully so.
> 
> I promise, _it will get better for them_. There's still one more chapter in this part, and at least one, maybe two parts after this one ends. Things will be happier, I swear.

“No,” I spat, unsure of what else to say, chest and mouth full of a lifetime of unplaced rage waiting to spill out and smother everything in its path. I clenched my fists into my pockets in desperation, to keep them from shaking, to keep me from doing something rash.

Din groaned in annoyance, his helmet sagging wearily between his shoulder blades. “What else do you want from me, _vod_? A certificate stating that you and I are of the same clan? A holo from Reyn? Or better yet, the man himself, come to reclaim what’s his?” His growling baritone threatened darkness and destruction, but he couldn’t possibly know the inner turmoil I was already experiencing. Nothing he could do or say would change the way I felt about the mess I was unwillingly dragged into. Hell, even _I_ didn’t understand all of my feelings, not totally, and that just made me all the angrier.

Neglected emotions tended to do that for me, no matter how hard I tried to find peace.

Scowling, I closed the space between us until we were almost chest-to-chest. “I mean, no. You may _not_ use me for bait to get Drys. I don’t give one flying _frag_ what he did in the past,” I lied. “Not my bluurg, not my moisture farm. _Tayli’bac?_ ” When he didn’t answer, I nodded curtly, taking a step back and crossing my trembling arms over my ribcage. “Good.”

Sighing, Din rubbed at the face of his helmet with the palms of his hands. Probably wishing I was anywhere else but in front of him.

I had the same exact sentiments.

“You don’t really have much choice in the matter. Reyn is a war criminal, a _demagolka_ ,” he murmured, the frown plain in his tone. “Finding you has renewed the Covert’s hope for justice. You can’t abandon your people now.”

“ _My people?_ ” I sneered. “Where were they when I had to fend for myself? When I had to do things no child should even know about, just to survive?” I threw my arms out wide, gesturing to the wider covert. “Y’all have been here this entire time, and what? Just stayed hidden?” It was too late to back down now. The rage all-consuming, I continued to dig the hole I was in. No use changing what you’re comfortable with, right? “Mandalorians have the skills to make the galaxy a better place, but it’s easy to see you’re just a bunch of _hut’uun’e_ \- “

The uppercut just barely grazed my chin, brushing roughly against my nose. I sprang backwards to get into a defensive stance. However, I was not counting on the bunk being so close behind me. As soon as I had jumped out of the way of his fist, I tumbled backwards onto the hard bed, narrowly avoiding the jab aimed at my solar plexus.

“You have _no right_!” Din roared. “You don’t know what my people have suffered, what we’ve had to endure during the Wars.” He lunged over the footboard, landing on my middle, knocking the air out of me. _What we’ve had to do…_ ”

With his full weight on top of me, I couldn’t do anything more than flail my legs and let my fingers scrabble for purchase against his beskar.

“You seem to forget, I _lived_ in those areas, Din! I was caught in the middle of those war zones.” Hooking two fingers under his belt, I jerked, knocking him off balance just enough to wedge a knee between our bodies.

“ _Mando’ad draar digu, vod,_ ” Din huffed. “How can I forget something I never even knew?”

I heaved with all my might, shoving him off of me. The momentum caused him to topple off the backend of the bed with an earth-shattering _oomph_. In a flash, I rolled off the side of the bunk, landing hard on my knees and scrabbling away from him. My pack lay where it had been tossed, and I snagged at the straps, pulling it towards me. Shield or weapon, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but surely it was better to have it than to not.

“At least you have people,” I gasped, scrambling stiffly to my feet. I chucked the heavy pack at him, catching him square in the chestplate as he struggled to rise. Din caught it, hugging it to his middle in surprise before tossing it aside and coming at me again.

And this time, the punch landed.

His knuckles connected to my jaw so fast that I didn’t immediately register the pain. Blood spurted brightly from my mouth, covering his bare hand in beautiful, glossy red. Stunned, I gaped at him.

Equally stunned, Din’s arms hung loosely by his sides. His shoulders trembled with each rasping breath he took. Was he surprised that he finally drew blood?

I worked my jaw back and forth until I felt confident that it wasn’t damaged beyond repair. “This isn’t working out for me,” I breathed, touching fingertips lightly to my lips before looking at them. Dazed, I admired the shine of my blood dripping slowly from my fingers in the dim light. “I’m done,” I said simply, almost giggling. “Consider me _dar’aliit_.”

And with that, I picked up my pack and strolled calmly through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _vod_ \- comrade, *mate*, sibling  
>  _Tayli’bac?_ \- Got it? Okay? Understand? (Often very aggressive.)  
>  _demagolka_ \- someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche  
>  _hut’uun’e_ \- coward (worst possible insult)  
>  _Mando’ad draar digu, vod_ \- A Mandalorian never forgets.  
>  _dar’aliit_ \- [ **just makin’ up words…** ] No longer Clan


	5. The Peace Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little calm in the calamity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? _See?!?_ I TOLD you there was gonna be some happiness... sorta!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Look out for Part 5!!!

Sprinting down the lonely hallway, I ignored the blood dripping down my face, allowing my instincts rather than sight to guide me out of the Clan’s maze of tunnels. I didn’t know where I was, or where exactly I was going, but I knew I had to be out of the covert, away from Din Djarin and everything he believed in.

Vaguely aware of the shadowy forms darting out of the way as I passed, I kept my head down and ran. I didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need to think. All I needed to do was run. Run and forget and never feel again.

The whispering shadows thinned. The air grew cooler. But I let it all go, the only sensations I wanted were my heart beating in my chest and the soft soles of my boots slapping the smooth concrete. I didn’t stop to catch my breath, didn’t slow down to find my bearings. I ran as if it were the only thing keeping me alive.

I was so caught up in the thrill of flight that I didn’t notice the floor gradually slanting upwards. The toes of my boots caught on the treads carved into the concrete, a change from the smoothness of the hallways. But I didn’t stop to look. I just kept on running.

Until I reached a dead end. Well, not exactly a dead end, but a door. A door, guarded by two Mandalorians casually lounging against a scattering of crates. Blocking my way to freedom.

I skidded to a stop, blowing like a bellows. Sweat plastered my jumpsuit to my body, blood trickling down the back of my throat. I tried to swallow, but choked instead.

“ _Udesii! Me’bana? Me’viinii gar teh, vaar’ika?_ ” the same gigantic blue-gray warrior from before asked calmly, a large gloved hand extended to show he didn’t mean any harm. He approached me slowly, a wounded and frightened creature ready to bolt. Wild and feral, my eyes were surely rolling white and my nostrils flaring in distress.

“I need... to-to get out... Now,” I panted, licking at a split in my bottom lip. My tongue came away metallic and salty, bile rising in response. The adrenaline began to ebb, and I doubled over, the pain from my injuries unfurling themselves in thorny red waves. I couldn’t help but groan.

“Easy, _vod’ika._ Breathe.” The blue-gray warrior angled his helmet towards his partner, speaking a clipped version of Mando’a I couldn’t understand. With a nod, the other Mandalorian took off at a light jog down the tunnel, disappearing around a corner.

The echoing bootsteps faded to nothing. His attention back on me, the large warrior squatted in front of me, tilting his visor until he knew I could see him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his warm voice a soothing balm to my jangled nerves.

I didn’t know this warrior, and he sure as hell didn’t know me. What gave him the fragging right to ask me this?

“ _Naas_ ,” I replied dryly. Mandalorians asked to find out things in a literal sense. I didn’t feel like telling him anything.

But he could sense that. “ _Ibac’jehaat, ad’ika._ You don’t have to tell me,” he said. Unfolding himself to his imposing height, he stood straight once more and motioned me over to the crates. “Come, _atinad’ika_. Let me take a look at that _naas_ on your face.”

Spent from fighting and running and ignoring the confusion of emotions, I dragged myself to the crates and hoisted onto one. I sullenly stared into space as the blue-gray Mando dug through one of the other crates, shifting the contents this way and that in his search. Soon, he held a medkit proudly aloft and plopped it beside me.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked, only half-joking. I turned my attention to his hands, unable to trust anything about him, even after the kindness he’d shown me.

“Not in the least; I never could pass my basic med training,” he deadpanned as he peeled off his gloves. His hands, I was surprised to note, were a deep golden russet bordering on bronze, strong and well-defined and peppered with thin white scars. Long fingers, the pinkie and ring finger on his left hand crooked at the first and second knuckles as if they had been broken and then healed improperly, looked warm and inviting, and I had to stop myself from reaching over to trace my fingers over the backs of his hands. He angled his visor at me. I furrowed my brow and coughed, hoping he hadn’t noticed my staring.

I was rewarded with a glob of phlegm from the depths of my guts. It was unpleasant, and I gagged a little at the taste.

He must have taken it as doubt, for he tried again to assuage my imagined fears. “Really, you don’t have to worry. I can take care of a few scrapes.” The smile in his voice sent a tingle down my spine, building on the off-centering feeling of wanting to be taken care of. By _him_.

I swallowed the blood and the bile and the need for comfort, choosing instead to tentatively meet his gaze. “You don’t have to…” I stopped, weakly gesturing at my face with a bloodied hand.

The warrior shrugged, busying himself with the medkit latch. “We take care of our own. Now hold still, this is gonna sting.”

“But-”

“ _K’uur, atinad’ika._ Let me do my work in peace.”

Several quick jabs with a syringe and a liberal application of bacta gel later, and I was physically feeling a little less bruised.

Packing the unused med supplies back into the kit, he pushed the trash aside and joined me on the crate, legs splayed out in front of him, boots windshield-wipering back and forth to a beat only he could hear. The quiet between us settled around our bodies in thick, feathery layers.

I could say it was a relief to sit in companionable silence. After everything I had fought against, after all the fear and the anger and the frustration that had built up over the last week, it should have been nice to just sit and not be asked of anything. But as all things with my mind, I wouldn’t cooperate.

Tense and ready to spring at the slightest provocation, I gripped the square edge of the crate, my knuckles turning white and my nails bending against the hard plastic. The silence was nerve-wracking. It got under my skin, made me itchy and restless. With no distractions and little ambient sound, the words began to fall out of my mouth, fuzzy and coarse and prickly.

“I only wanted to get off that doshing moon,” I began, voice low and grainy. “I thought… I hoped that I could. With… _him_.” I couldn’t bring myself to utter Din’s name. Even though we may have shared the same adoptive _buir_ , I didn’t have to like the guy, _refused_ to show him much respect. Not after Bosph. Not after all of our fights. “Seeing him, I thought… I thought all Mandalorians were like my _buir_.”

Humming softly, the blue-gray Mando cocked his helmet in understanding. “ _Munit tome’tayl, skotah iisa,_ ” he replied.

I laughed feebly. “Yeah. That he is.” Slowly, I unclamped my fingers from the side of the crate and laid them, palms up, in my lap. I stared blankly at them as I continued. “Sometimes I get so… so _angry_ , that I can’t hold it in. The more I shove it back, the sharper it gets, until, well.” I pointed to my face again. “Can’t say what he did was unwarranted. I’ve been a bit of a fragging ass, despite his best efforts at keeping me alive.”

It was the giant’s turn to laugh, the gravelly chuckle buzzing pleasantly through the modulator.

Sighing heavily, I curled my fingers into my palms, briefly digging my nails into the oil-stained flesh. “But he-he had no right. In bringing me here. I didn’t _choose_ to be cared for by a war criminal.” I turned my hands over, rolling the knuckles into the tops of my thighs, palms slicking with sweat as I remembered. “This isn’t my cause, you… you aren’t my people.” Biting my lip, I screwed my eyes shut, the tell-tale pricklings of tears welling behind the lids frightening me more than getting caught in a blaster fight. I was _not_ going to cry. Not now, not in front of this warrior. _Not ever_.

“Let me out… please. I can’t be here. I-I don’t belong.”

The words caught him off guard as much as they did me. Shifting his body to face me, the Mandalorian brought a bare hand up to gingerly cup my chin, tipping my head back until I was forced to open my eyes and look at him. “Don’t belong? _Atinad’ika,_ ” he said quietly, dropping the hand to my shoulder with a squeeze. “ _Gar tal’din naas jaon’yc._ ”

“Don’t give me that line of _kovedee’osik,_ ” I said cooly, shrugging off his comforting hand, twisting away from his warmth. There was that biting anger again, rearing its ugly head at any sign of pity or sympathy. “I don’t _want_ to belong. I’m just fine by myself,” I lied, mostly to myself. “I’m going.”

The blue-gray Mandalorian sat staring at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, slapping his beskared thighs with his beautiful hands, he stood up and strode purposefully to the door. “We can’t hold you against your will, _atinad’ika_ ,” he sighed, sliding back bolts with practiced ease. “Even if you don’t believe you are part of this Clan, we will always accept you back. No matter what happens out there.” Finished with the bolts, he turned to the control panel to punch in the code. “But one thing, _atinad’ika_.” His dark tan fingers hovered over the release button, helmet tilted towards me. “We aren’t the only ones who know about your _buir_. There are… other forces out there that also search for him. And if they find out that you are his…”

I froze. _Frag._ I hadn’t even thought about someone else out there to get me. “What would you have me do?” I asked, swallowing the cracks in my voice.

Lowering his hand, the Mandalorian turned to me, tensed as if ready for a struggle. “Are you sure you want to know?” he murmured, his vocoder barely registering the rich depths of his voice.

“ _Elek_ ,” I replied nervously, knowing all too well what he was going to ask of me.

“ _Stay._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Udesii! Me’bana? Me’viinii gar teh, vaar’ika?_ \- Take it easy (Calm down!)! What’s happening (what’s happened?)? What are you running from, pipsqueak? [lit. What running you from, runt? - **mashed the Mando’a** ]  
>  _vod’ika._ \- little sibling  
>  _ad’ika_ \- little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like *lads* or *guys*  
>  _Naas_ \- Nothing  
>  _Ibac’jehaat, ad’ika_ \- That is a lie, little one [ **what even is sentence structure** ]  
>  _atinad’ika_ \- [ **not _not_ a word**] little stubborn one (atin - stubborn; ad’ika - little one)  
>  _K’uur, atinad’ika._ \- Hush, little stubborn one.  
>  _Munit tome’tayl, skotah iisa,_ \- long memory, short fuse - said to be the typical Mando mindset  
>  _Gar tal’din naas jaon’yc.._ \- Your past is unimportant. (lit. Your bloodline is nothing important) [ **butchers the Mando’a** ]  
>  _kovedee’osik_ \- bullshit (kovedee - cow-like creature the size of a bison; osik - shit {or dung, but insulting-like}) [ **just gonna keep on making up words until someone corrects me** ]  
>  _Elek_ \- Yes


End file.
